the immortan doesn't deserve them. not their lives, not their bodies, and especially not their kindness. the wives were far sweeter than any nectarine she could remember tasting as a girl, their juices sacred and meant to be savored, not squeezed until the last drop before being cast aside once they were deemed worthless — the ways of the wasteland be damned. but she'll get them out of here, all of them, and back to the place of her youth, where green was more frequent a color than the orange that sears hot and heavy on the horizon.

alice sits beside her, legs entangled in order for the both of them to fit together in the small space of the window — joe trusting her enough to allow her entrance into the bio-dome to be amongst the wives, which was his first mistake. and while the blonde has her attention out into the night, blue bathing the citadel's rock towers, furiosa keeps her gaze upon the woman. she takes in her stunning features: skin pale and unburnt by the sun's harsh rays, hair a shimmering silver like molten metal, and her eyes a blue so vibrant it puts even the afternoon sky to shame.

it's only when alice turns to look at her that she pulls her gaze away, a sudden warmth trickling up her spine and threatening to pool into her cheeks at having been caught. the words alice uses only adds fuel to the fire, and furiosa allows her eyes to flicker downwards, then over to their intertwined legs, then up to her face and into those oceanic eyes. there's that kindness again, alice's features harboring a fond expression that only makes furiosa want to lean in, close the gap, feel the softness of the woman's lips against her own, taste her, quench that dryness of thirst at the back of her throat.

give a fella a drink, and they'll act like a brand new person. and although this fine ass piece of meat standing in front of him hadn't taken even a single swig from the bottle in their hand — on account that they had smashed it and was now pointing the sharp, broken edges towards him, as if that would do anything — there's a newfound courage he detects in them that sends a jolt of something far more appealing than electricity down into his lower half.

" my place? " he humors them with a scoff, stance going lax in his decision to hear them out. as much as he loves his job, he does like having a little excitement every once in a while to keep things interesting. in a show of nonchalance, he reaches up to take his cigarette from his mouth, exhaling out the smoke so that it curls nicely in the space them. " and where, exactly, would my place be then, hmm? "

their statement hits him point blank, not enough to knock him completely off his guard, but just enough to make his jaw visibly tighten. there's a rebuttal to be given, a 'yeah, i desire you to get back to work', but for whatever reason, his mouth remains closed and the words die on his tongue before they could even make it to air. it most likely has to deal with the fact that jo is moving towards him from the other side of the car. he watches as they slide themselves over the back seats, closer and closer, his breath hitching when they finally pause just a few inches in front of him, sitting at an angle on the seat his door is open to. every part of him urges to slam the car door in their face, dismiss whatever... this was and continue scavenging the remaining cars for possible supplies. but again, for whatever reason, he remains still, as if caught.

admittedly, some part of him deep down would know that he would be lying if he disagreed with them. but he has to. he has to. it's better for them both that they don't do this, that they don't get attached. because he's lost so much already, he doesn't know if he could handle losing one more, as annoying as they so are.

but he doesn't move. his old, stubborn body once again refuses to pull away, and he instead finds himself leaning in closer, gripping the top of the car for balance, or restraint, he's not a hundred percent sure. it's obvious they're waiting for him to make the first move, but he continues to still be stuck in that limbo, debating whether or not to cross that threshold. because when he does, he knows he can never go back. he knows that if he were to lose jo from this point on, he will never recover.

he notices something the longer he stares into their eyes. not only the fact that they're surprisingly pretty this close up, a honeyed brown and a bright blue. but he notices a change in expression, a shift from playful to almost a look of concern, as if they could read his thoughts, see the reason why he is so hesitant. and maybe they do. it would explain why he feels their hand come to rest against his cheek, palm warm and soft against his scruff. the air shifts around them. no longer is the tension sexually charged with their teases and his annoyed sighs. but instead, there is a warmth that he has not felt in a long, long time. comfort. he can't remember the last time he had been held like this, touched like this.

in the rare moments when they do converse with one another, they are always tucked away from any ears, or the lack thereof, that may eavesdrop. and they are always one sided, with furiosa never giving more than a word or two. maybe three, if he's lucky enough to ask the right question, and that she's willing to divulge a piece of herself to him. but other than that, their time together is spent in silence, the comfortable air between them speaking more to their trust of one another than what their vocal cords form could anyway.

often, she would catch his gaze lingering on the dark locks that fall below her shoulders. and often, she would wonder if he'd attempt to run his fingers through it. had it been anyone else, she would be filled with such disgust that she would take a blade and cut the strands right at the very roots so that they could never do so again. but jack was different. with jack, she wonders what it would feel like to have his fingers through her hair. but he never does, so she never brings it up.

she catches him looking again while they sit upon the secret cliffside they've carved out for themselves on the side of the citadel. but instead of looking away like he usually does, he meets her gaze and holds it. there's a flicker of green she detects in them beneath the grease smeared over the upper half of his face, green that reminds her of home, of the place at the end of her maps of stars, a place she wants for him to see when the time is right to leave. till then, she takes in this private moment with him, listening to the compliment he gives her.

perhaps if the world was a little less hot and a little less cruel, she would have smiled at that. maybe even blushed like the wives do. but instead, her expression continues to remain as stoic as ever. his sentiment, however, is not lost on her, and suddenly, she reaches for him. a fistful of his hair is gripped tightly so that he could be yanked closer. his face smashes against hers, or the other way around given that she too moves in towards him. the comfortable air of silence between them is no more as their lips meet. if one were to look upon them from the outside, they would perhaps mistake her actions for that of eating away at his face like a ravenous dog rather than someone inept at expressing certain desires they feel inside. at this rate, she might break his nose. skull to skull, teeth clack against each other as his mouth opens to accept her own and she breathes in the bit of air sanctioned to her.

by Mary Oliver

The owl who comes through the dark to sit in the black boughs of the apple tree

and stare down the hook of his beak, dead silent, and his eyes,

like two moons in the distance, soft and shining under their heavy lashes --

like the most beautiful life -- is thinking of nothing as he watches

and waits to see what might appear, briskly, out of the seamless,

deep winter -- out of the teeming world below -- and if I wish the owl luck,

and I do, what am I wishing for that other soft life, climbing through the snow?

What we must do, I suppose is to hope the world keeps its balance:

Two panel Brahms and Greta F•A•N•A•R•T 🥹

okay so this has already been done but i thought i’d just answer it as well. i’m sorry if it’s repetitive but i tried, either way i hope you like them! i apologise for salvatore i have no idea on how to write for him :(

Alcina Dimitrescu

This is the first time that Alcina has really questioned her loyalty to Mother Miranda.

She feels nothing but betrayal by the woman she devoted herself to. Mother Miranda was once her entire world, giving all her energy but when she holds your lifeless body in her arms and sees the look of indifference on Miranda’s face it all comes crumbling down.

The Lady Dimitrescu often kept to the confinement of her castle after that, choosing to mourn silently as she didn’t have the strength to keep up appearances at family meetings anymore.

At night in the castle though, all the maidens and her daughters can hear her cry over you, everything bottled up has her slicing at the pillows and curtains and all her composure of an elegant woman fails her as she truly lets herself mourn over her beloved.

Donna Beneviento

Donna is so fragile to begin with, that losing the one person who she loves is the last straw.

Each night she cries over and over as she recalls watching the life leave your body. Not even Angie or her dolls can help her as she feels completely alone in the world.

It doesn’t get better with time either, she misses you every day and finds herself constantly at a loss because you made her life so happy and enjoyable and now that’s gone.

She feels lost now without you. She continues to follow Miranda but inside she feels broken and she becomes very quiet, even more than she usually is.

She keeps a diary that she uses to write down all the memories you’ve had together, and when she needs to she can relive them. It almost makes her forget for a moment that you’re gone but for a moment in time she can remember the warm feeling she gets when she’s with you.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore is quite numb to your death and first, almost not even registering it happens for two reasons.

The first is his undying devotion to Mother Miranda and he almost can’t understand how she could do something as horrible as harming you, almost…

The second is that this little guy has been alone for so long that when he loses you his mind doesn’t know what happened.

It hits him like a delayed reaction when he realises that you’re not there to hug him when he turns around and that’s when the loneliness kicks in.

He really misses your company, you were the only one who he cared about in the end and he feels very empty without you in his life.

Sometimes it’s easier for him to pretend like you’re still there and other times he cries as he visits the grave he has for you up on the cliff of the reservoir. But nonetheless he misses you for you were the only good thing he’s ever known.

Karl Heisenberg

As expected Karl is seething with anger. He already hates Miranda for all the pain he’s physically inflicted on himself but now she’s gone and taken away the only person who ever loved him.

He has to take a walk outside before he accidentally destroys his factory and just lets out his anger on every bit of metal he can find.

He plans day and night with no sleep to plot his revenge against Miranda, often reassuring himself that he was strong enough for you to be able to seek your revenge.

When he does get little amounts of sleep they’re riddled with nightmares and he wakes up with tears in his eyes as his body shakes with exhaustion.

Eventually the anger becomes too much and he crashes and burns out. It’s like dynamite exploding and all of a sudden he just snaps, all the metal in the room drops to the floor as he’s flooded with emotion.

All Karl has ever wanted was for someone to love him and he found that in you. He misses the way he felt around you, the purpose you gave him and the way you took the pain away. He craves your affection and realises just how much he depends on you.

That’s how Karl deals with losing you, a constant cycle of uncontrollable anger until he’s too tired to keep it up and breaks down again.